What the Water Gave Us
by Melissa Black13
Summary: Killian hasn't been to the beach in the three years since the accident that took his hand. What happens when he forgets the right sunscreen and enlists a beautiful, but guarded, stranger's help? A day at the beach may be exactly what the doctor ordered. The CS Beach AU you never knew you needed :)


**Summary:** Killian hasn't been to the beach in the three years since the accident that took his hand. What happens when he forgets the right sunscreen and enlists a beautiful, but guarded, stranger's help? A day at the beach may be exactly what the doctor ordered. The CS Beach AU you never knew you needed :)

 **Words:** 6,000+

 **Rated:** T (for mild swearing)

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 **What the Water Gave Us**

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 _This was a bloody stupid idea._

Killian trudged across the hot sand, a disgruntled set to his mouth, eyes scanning the beach for a spot where he wouldn't be surrounded by teenagers blaring music or obnoxiously affectionate couples. His therapist, Archie, kept harassing him about getting out of the house, and so he'd come to the only place he could think to be on a hot summer day: the beach. In hindsight, he should have just gone to the cinema or something. After all, no one noticed you only had one hand when you were in a dark theater.

Even now, he could feel people's eyes on him, and he almost felt like turning around and hopping on the next train back to Manhattan. Something stopped him though, maybe what little pride he had left, and he decided to set up camp near a cheery yellow buttercup umbrella.

He lay out his beach blanket as best he could and rewarded himself with a sip of rum from his flask. What was that saying? It was 5 o'clock somewhere, wasn't it? The burn of the rum felt good down his throat, effectively calming him down. He pulled off his t-shirt, reached into his bag for his suncream, and froze immediately.

He'd bought the wrong kind.

He'd meant to pick up the easy spray kind, the one where you just hold the button down with your finger, but instead, he'd grabbed the lotion, and usually for the lotion you needed, well, two working hands.

 _Fuck_.

He looked around helplessly. The sun was beating down on him, not a cloud in sight, and with his damned English skin, he would be burnt to a crisp in an hour. He'd bought SPF 50 for Christ's sake. Killian stifled a groan of frustration. What was he even doing here? What the point of doing anything anymore? He would never be what he was again, so why did he even try? He glanced down at his stump, feeling the phantom clenching of his fist, self loathing curling poisonously in his stomach.

He could still feel the heat on his face as the bomb exploded, could hear the screaming and crying from the people around them, could taste the blood in his mouth from where he'd bit his tongue. The bomb had taken both Liam and his hand in one excruciating instant, and he remembered every second of it.

It'd been three years since: three years of moving restlessly from one place to another (from London to Dublin to Paris to New York City); three years of therapists telling him it wasn't his fault; three years of trying to put his life back together, and some days it seemed to him that he was no closer now than he was then.

He took another swig of rum, trying to calm himself down. _Don't think about it. Just_ ** _don't_** _think about it._ This didn't have to ruin his day. He didn't have to let it. He'd just need a little help. Killian closed his eyes and took a deep, calming breath of sea air. When he felt like he was ready, he let his eyes flutter open to survey the other beach goers around him.

That's when he saw her.

She was the owner of the buttercup beach umbrella and how he hadn't seen her right away was a mystery to him as she was easily the most gorgeous woman he'd ever seen. Long, wavy blonde hair, pale, flawless skin, and legs for days, she wore a modest, red bikini that complemented her gorgeous curves.

She was sitting upright on her beach blanket, eyes scanning the water alertly, and Killian glanced out at the swimmers, trying to gauge who she was watching. Probably her boyfriend, he figured, somewhat bitterly. He glanced down at the suncream in his hand and over at her contemplatively. It's not like he had many options, right? He didn't need much convincing and hesitantly crossed the distance between their two spots.

He cleared his throat, and she whipped her head around to look up at him. "Pardon me, lass," he said apologetically, mentally cursing himself as her green eyes scanned him critically, only pausing for a moment on his stump. "This is a tad embarrassing, but I brought the wrong suncream with me, and well…" he trailed off, holding up his left arm helplessly. "I find myself in need of some assistance, if you would be so kind?"

She pursed her lips, and for a second, he thought she would say no, but she swivelled her eyes out to the swimmers and then back to him again before she gave a tight lipped smile. "Sure," she said, pushing herself up to stand.

Killian's shoulders dropped in relief and he smiled. "Cheers, love," he said. He passed her the bottle and held out his hand. "All I really need is for you to pour me some. I can do the heavy lifting."

He winked at her, feeling lighter than he had in years. She snorted and squeezed some lotion into his hand. "Is this your move, then?" she asked breezily, as he spread the cream down his left calf. "This is how you pick up unsuspecting women at the beach?"

Killian froze before straightening up slowly to look at her, feeling his good humor drain away. "Actually no, seeing as how this is the first time I've been back to the beach in over three years," he bit out, scowling as he held his hand out brusquely for more cream.

Shame clouded her expression immediately. "Shit, I—wow, that was way out of line," she said, and there was a tiredness to her, like something was weighing heavily upon her. He recognized it instantly as it was the same look he saw in the mirror staring back at him everyday. "I'm sorry. It's just been a really long week...not that that's any excuse to be rude."

She looked like she was mentally berating herself worse than he ever could and he decided to take pity on her. "It's all right," he told her, dipping his chin to meet her eyes. "I'll admit, there's a reason I chose to ask you over, say, King Kong there," he admitted, nodding to a remarkably big gentleman sporting hair on just about every inch of his exposed skin.

He was rewarded by her slight smile, and something about it stirred the scarred pieces of his heart. He wanted to make her smile again more than anything.

"Let's start over, shall we?" he asked. He stuck out his hand hopefully, sincere smile on his face. "Killian Jones."

She hesitated for a moment before placing her hand in his. "Emma, Emma Swan."

"Thank you for your help, Emma," he said as they shook hands. When she pulled her hand back he kept his outstretched. "Some more sun cream, if you would."

She squirted it into his hand, a curious little smile on her face. "You're not from around here, are you?"

"What gave it away?"

She bit her lip, giggling a bit, and he'd never heard such a beautiful sound. The smile on his face would not go away. He was completely entranced by her. "Oh, I don't know, your accent's kind of a dead giveaway," she said. "You know, here in the States we call it sun screen."

"Yes, well, you also call the boot of the car a 'trunk', so I fail to see your point," he teased, rubbing lotion along his chest. When he looked up again, he was gratified to see her checking him out. Distantly, he reminded himself to thank his physical therapist for encouraging him to keep up his workout regime post-discharge.

"My point," Emma said, her eyes flitting back up to his when he held out his hand again, "Is that if you're going to live here, you might as well use our lingo."

He grinned. "I will take that into consideration, I suppose."

She squeezed some more lotion into his hand. "How long have you been in New York for?" she asked conversationally, eyes darting towards the water again.

"Just under a year," he replied. "There was nothing left for me in England after my accident, and they're doing some remarkable work with prosthetics here in the States."

She nodded, turning back to him, and her gaze fell on his wrist. Normally, such up close scrutiny would bother him, but she didn't look at it with disgust or pity. She merely appeared curious, though she said nothing as she squirted more cream into his hand.

"And what about you?" he asked. "Are you a native New Yorker, yourself?"

Emma scoffed. "Hardly," she said. "I've only been living here for about 6 months, and I'm just now figuring out the different subway routes."

"They can be tricky," Killian agreed, thinking that the metro here might be even more complicated than the London Underground. "You managed to get yourself here, though, which is commendable."

"Not really, I drove here," she said, and they both shared a laugh at that, eyes meeting for a moment.

Killian suddenly felt bold. "Care to lend me a hand with my back, love?" he asked, trying not to look too hopeful.

She shot him a playfully suspicious look that had his stomach all in knots. "And here I thought you weren't trying to pick me up," she quipped, but squeezed some lotion in her hands and gestured for him to turn around.

He didn't want to scare her off, but he hadn't been interested in a woman, in anyone really, in so many years, and she was stirring up something inside of him. "I find I'm not so sure anymore," he said truthfully, craning his neck to look over his shoulder at her.

A little intake of breath escaped her as their eyes met, but she said nothing, instead lifting her hands to spread the suncream on his back. Her touch was firm and soothing as she rubbed the lotion into his skin, and Killian felt like he was in heaven. It had been a long time since anyone who wasn't his doctor or physical therapist had touched him, and he'd forgotten how amazing simple human contact was. He had to stifle a groan from escaping passed his lips.

"The man of the house might have something to say about that," Emma finally said, as she finished with his back, and Killian's heart literally sank all the way down to his feet.

He attempted a smile as he turned back around. "Oh," he tried to say casually. He hadn't felt any rings on her finger as she'd spread the cream on his back, but perhaps she'd taken them off. "You've a husband, then?"

She shook her head, a little smile on her face. "Nope."

"Boyfriend?"

"Wrong again," she said playfully, and Killian was just about to feel put off by her flippant tone when a voice nearby called out,

"Mom!"

Emma's head whipped around, and Killian's followed. A young boy, he looked about 9 or 10, was hurrying towards them, clutching a boogie board in his hands.

"Mom, did you see me?" the boy asked excitedly, skipping across the sand over to them. It took Killian a moment before realizing that Emma was the 'Mom' he was speaking to. "Did you see me? A huge wave came and I rode it all the way in!"

"Henry, what have I told you about running on the beach?" Emma said pointedly, and the boy, Henry, glanced behind him to see their fellow beach goers grumbling about the sand he'd kicked up onto their blankets.

He smiled charmingly at his mother and shrugged. "Oops!"

Emma shook her head fondly. "Yeah, oops is right, kid," she said, smoothing his wet hair back. "Try to be a little more careful, alright?"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Henry said, rolling his eyes. "You saw me, though, right?"

"Of course, I did, you were awesome!" Emma told him, smiling brilliantly, and Killian couldn't stop himself from admiring how beautiful she looked.

Her son grinned back and dropped the boogie board, hurtling himself into his mother's arms. They both clung to one another, Emma cradling the back of his head in her hand, and it was clear that they were very close. If Killian had to guess, he would say that it was just the two of them, and it had been for a while. Emma looked up, and spied him over her son's dark head of hair. She smiled slightly, turning Henry around in her arms so that he faced Killian.

"The man of the house, I presume?" Killian asked, raising an eyebrow at her.

"Yup," she replied proudly. "Henry, this is Killian Jones. Killian, my son, Henry."

"A pleasure to meet you, lad," Killian said, extending his hand for him to shake.

Henry studied him curiously. "Hmm, Jones, huh?" he asked as they shook hands. "Any relation to Indiana Jones?"

Killian chuckled, sharing an amused glance with Emma. "Not that I know of."

Henry shrugged. "Worth a shot," he said, not let down in the slightest. His eyes darted around Killian, and Killian's shoulders tensed as Henry's eyes zeroed in on his stump. "Whoa, you're missing a hand!"

"Henry!" Emma admonished, her hand gripping her son's shoulder tightly. Killian caught a glimpse of wide, apologetic eyes before he looked down self-consciously.

"Mom," Henry whined. "Everyone knows the coolest people only have one hand."

A snort escaped Killian. "That's a new one," he said, not bothering to hide his bitterness. "I'd love to hear that list, lad."

"Well, Luke Skywalker, for one," Henry replied automatically. "And Darth Vader."

"Jaime Lannister from Game of Thrones," Emma chimed in, and Killian could see where Henry got his spunk from.

"Uh oh, I'm being double-teamed now," Killian said, thoroughly enjoying himself if he was being honest. "Anyone else?"

Henry put his chin between his thumb and forefinger in thought before snapping his fingers. "Duh, Captain Hook!"

Killian smiled. "So, you think I should strap on a hook, then?" he asked, contemplating his stump without revulsion for the first time since his accident. "I must confess, it's not the worst idea I've heard."

"See, told ya," Henry said brightly, before changing the subject as boys of 10 with short attention spans are want to do. "Mom, can we play frisbee now?"

Emma sighed indulgently. "Sure, kid," she told him, and Henry lit up, running over to her beach bag and digging through it.

Killian felt his smile fade at the realization that his moment with Emma and Henry had come to an end. He pasted a close-lipped smile to his face, slightly gratified to see that Emma appeared equally conflicted. She had opened her mouth to say something, which Killian would have given his other hand to hear, when Henry came rushing back, frisbee in hand.

"Hey, Killian, wanna play with us?" Henry asked eagerly, and Killian's heart soared again.

"I would be delighted," he replied, bending slightly to get on the same eye level as the lad. He shared a conspiratorial look with him, nodding his head up to Emma. "So long as it's all right with your Mum, though."

Quick as a whip, Henry swung around and turned his puppy dog eyes on his mother. Killian struggled not to do the same, not wanting to force her hand in the matter.

"Please, Mom?"

Killian chanced a look at Emma only to find her studying him, her eyes cautious. She swallowed, looking back down to her son as he stood up. "Why not?" She said, raising her shoulder in a half shrug.

He son fist pumped the air in celebration, which made them both smile, before he took off back towards the water's edge with a shouted, "Come on!" over his shoulder.

"What did I say about running?" Emma called out after him, grunting when Henry's pace slowed down infinitesimally.

Killian scratched the back of his ear reflexively. "I don't wish to intrude on your day."

She regarded him with those piercing green eyes of hers again, before quirking her lips up in a smile. "How you let me decide whether you're intruding or not," she told him.

He returned her smile, trying not to grin outright. "As you wish," he said, and together they traced Henry's steps to where he was waiting for them none too patiently.

Frisbee was luckily a sport that was easily done with one hand, and Killian couldn't remember the last time he'd had such fun. Henry was a bundle of energy, shouting to Killian to see how far he could throw it or having him make diving catches in the waves. He laughed more in that hour than he had in the last three years combined.

And then there was Emma. Her smile was brighter than the sun's rays shining down on them, and her laughter drowned out even the crashing of the waves that surrounded them. She was stunning, the wind often whipping her long tresses around. Was she some sort of model or actress? Was that why she was in New York? He wanted to know more— _everything_ —about her.

"What do you do in the city, love?" He asked her when they'd returned to their blankets for lunch, Killian dragging his things to their spot at Henry's behest (and Emma's reassuring nod).

"Mom catches bad guys," Henry said through a mouth full of peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

"Henry, don't talk with you mouth full," Emma scolded, and her son swallowed and smiled a wide, innocent grin that made his mother roll her eyes.

"So, you're in law enforcement," Killian inferred, taking a bit out of his own roast beef sandwich that he'd brought.

"Not exactly," Emma said. She hesitated slightly before a challenging gleam entered her eyes. "I'm a bail bondsperson."

Killian felt his eyes go wide at the thought of the beautiful woman before him taking down bail jumpers. The knowledge took root in him though, and he could see her in his mind's eye, tackling some idiot in an alleyway, the same fierce look in her eyes that she wore at the moment, daring him to say something about her choice in profession.

"That's brilliant, love," he told her sincerely. "I suspect you've got an interesting tale or two."

Her gaze softened and she smiled in a genuine sort of way that made Killian feel as though he'd passed some sort of test. "I've got a fair few."

She spent the rest of lunch regaling him and Henry with the story of her latest capture, a petty thief who had taken to dressing like a woman to evade the police before Emma had caught him literally with his pants down inside a public urinal. Henry and Killian were in stitches by the end of her story, Killian wiping tears out of his eyes.

Henry dusted crumbs off of himself before jumping up, announcing, "I'm going back in," before taking off with his boogie board.

"You're supposed to wait 30 minutes before swimming after you eat!" Emma called after him, blowing a raspberry when he waved back and continued on his way. She turned to Killian with a wry expression. "Mother of the Year, right?"

Killian chuckled, unable to keep from smiling. "Don't be so hard on yourself, Swan," he said. "From what I can see, you're doing a splendid job with him."

He wanted so badly to ask where Henry's father was if she had neither husband nor boyfriend, but he held his tongue, hoping the time might come when she would offer that information freely.

"He makes it easy," Emma told him, looking out at Henry in the water. "He's such a good kid. I don't know what I'd do without him," she added quietly, almost as an afterthought.

Killian studied her closely while she was looking away. She couldn't have been more than 28 or 29 years old, which, given Henry's age, meant she'd had her son when she was very young. Killian couldn't imagine what she must have gone through, especially if, as it seemed, the father hadn't been in the picture.

He changed the subject and they talked aimlessly about this and that, her job and his (graphic design), their favorite movies and sports teams. She had a wit about her that he loved, like when she suggested that if he was going to continue to live in the States, he should try watching American football.

When they somehow got on the topic of his childhood, she grew solemn as he told her about the mother who had passed away when he was not even three and the father who hadn't done much to be worthy of the title. Emma nodded, almost to herself, and he recognized the look in her eyes; he wasn't the only one who'd had a rough childhood.

"Looks like Henry wants us to come in," Emma said suddenly, jarring Killian out of his thoughts. His tore his eyes away from her and scanned the water. Sure enough, Henry was waving frantically in their direction, urging them over. She stood up and offered her hand to Killian. "What do you say, up for a little dip?"

He took her hand and stood up, closer to her than he'd intended, but he couldn't move, lost in her eyes once again as she peered up at him. Her hand still in his, Emma's eyes dipped down to his lips, and Killian licked them unconsciously, tasting the saltiness of the air. She opened her mouth to say something, which Killian would have paid good money to hear, but their moment was pierced by the loud cry of a seagull as it swooped down nearby.

Killian cleared his throat, reluctantly letting go of her hand. "Lead the way, love," he said, gesturing towards the water.

The spent a little time in the water, mostly bobbing up and down with the waves watching Henry on his boogie board or half heartedly trying to body surf. They kept catching each other's eyes though, and Killian felt that their shared moment had changed something between them.

* * *

Later, the sun was making its slow descent as they stood down by the water's edge, letting the waves wash over their feet, causing them to sink deeper into the wet sand.

"How did it happen?"

Killian didn't say anything for a moment, only staring out over the waves where Henry was happily splashing around, pulled into a game of catch with a few other boys his age.

She must have taken his silence as unwillingness to talk about it because she backtracked quickly. "I mean, you don't have to tell me," she said. "I'm sure it's not something you like talking about."

And she was right, it was something he loathed _thinking_ about, let alone talking about. Really, he only spoke about it when Dr. Hopper forced him to, but there was something about Emma that made him want to divulge everything to her.

"It's certainly not a pleasant tale," he said, looking out across the waves before turning to her. "Are you sure you wish to hear?"

She swallowed, holding his gaze, and nodded.

He took a second to compose himself before he started his story. It had been his second tour in Iraq, Liam's third, he explained, and Killian had been lucky enough to have been placed in his brother's troop. One afternoon, there was a barrage of attacks in the city right outside the walls of their base, and Liam volunteered to lead a team out to protect civilians.

"To say I idolized my brother when I was younger is an understatement," Killian told her. "I wanted nothing more than to grow up and be just like him. He joined Her Majesty's Armed Forces when he was 21, and 2 years later, when I turned 18, I joined as well. I would have followed him to the ends of the earth, but even I felt he was taking an unnecessary risk that day."

Nevertheless, Killian had gone out into the city with him and a small team of soldiers.

"The fighting only grew worse," Killian told her almost robotically. "I argued with Liam that we ought to head back or at the very least request back up, but he was reckless, he—"

Killian's throat grew tight as he remembered, and he looked out across the water not seeing the waves but seeing the mosque through the smoke, Liam ahead of him guiding civilians inside. He didn't even realize his hand was clenched into a fist when he felt Emma's touch over it. He swallowed as she pried open his hand and threaded their fingers together.

"Go on," she prodded him gently.

He nodded, keeping his eyes focused on their entwined hands. "There were just a few civilians left in the vicinity. We went out together to escort them inside but, there was a whistling in the air, a bomb, this time even closer, and Liam, he must have seen its trajectory because he pushed me out of the way before it hit and then he was—then he was—he was just gone."

He was clutching Emma's hand by the end, but she was gripping it just as tightly back. When he looked up at her, her gaze met his and he was startled to find a single tear making its way down her cheek. Killian would have wiped it away, but that would have meant letting go of her hand.

"A piece of shrapnel tore through my wrist," he pressed on, gritting his teeth as he remembered. "I passed out from the pain, woke up in the hospital the next day without a brother and without a hand."

Emma didn't say anything, only leaning her head on his shoulder. His lips curled upwards in a small smile, taking her offered comfort. He was glad she didn't apologize for his loss or try to rationalize his death by saying he'd died with honor for queen and country, as so many had told him at Liam's funeral. Silence fell over them for a while, but a comfortable one. Killian, who had only ever talked to Archie about Liam's death, felt a weight lift off his shoulders as telling Emma about Liam meant one more person in the world remembered him, remembered that he was Killian's brother and the best man he knew.

Eventually, Emma took a deep breath and withdrew from him, and he looked at her expectantly, feeling she was about to say something.

"When I was a kid, I was bounced around from foster home to foster home, never really feeling like I belonged anywhere," she started, and his heart ached for her, for the child she'd been. "So, when I was 16, I ran away and lived on my own, stealing cars, knocking off convenience stores when I got hungry. That's when I met Neal."

"He was a couple years older than me, but came from a similar background," Emma said, her eyes locked on Henry, but with a sadness in her eyes. "We started hanging around, stealing where we could, slipping into hotel rooms, that sort of thing, and then, along the way, I fell for him. We were going to move to Tallahassee, build a home together, something neither of us had ever had."

She paused for a moment, and he said gently, "I'm guessing you never made it to Tallahassee?"

Emma shook her head, swallowing. "Turns out Neal was wanted for stealing some watches from his old job. When I offered to go get the watches he'd stashed so we could use them to start fresh, he set me up to take the fall."

Killian's heart dropped, and anger coursed through his veins at the thought of a younger Emma being used like that. He had the sudden urge to find this Neal, wherever the bloody hell the scumbag was, and use him for target practice. He was still a pretty good shot, even with only one hand.

"When I came out of prison 11 months later, all I had was a beat up volkswagen beetle and a 3-month-old baby."

"Henry," Killian said, looking out towards the boy in question, who was still happily splashing around in the water.

"Henry," Emma confirmed. "I almost put him up for adoption, but the moment I held him, I loved him, and I knew I couldn't go through with it. Turned out to be the best decision I ever made."

Emma paused and Killian waited patiently, feeling like he was about to learn why it was that she'd had such a long week, as she'd said earlier.

"I ran into Neal a few days ago," she said quietly, and he looked over at her in surprise. "You know, I must've gone over in my head a million times over the last 10 years what I would say to him if I ever saw him again. But I couldn't come up with a single thing. He apologized for what he'd done, said he'd panicked when we found the wanted sign with his picture on it and thought his dad was going to find him."

She exhaled a shaky breath. "I told him about Henry," she said, tightening her grip on his hand. He had almost forgotten their fingers with linked with how natural it felt. "I didn't want to but I thought he should know that he has a son. He asked me if he could meet him."

"What does Henry know about him?" Killian asked.

"That's just it," she said, her voice breaking a bit. "When Henry began asking about his father when he was younger, I made up a story about how he was this heroic firefighter who died in the line of duty. I didn't want him to grow up knowing that his dad didn't even know he existed. Now he's never going to trust me again when he learns the truth." He was startled to see Emma blinking back tears. "Henry is the one good thing I've had in my whole life. I can't ruin that."

With a wiggle he dislodged himself from where the waves had buried his feet, and tugged Emma gently to face him. "Swan, I've only known you both for less than a day," he told her, ducking his head so as to meet her eyes, "And even I can see that Henry thinks you hang the sun, moon, and stars. Will he be angry with you? Aye, I daresay he will be. Will he stop loving you? No, I sincerely doubt it."

Emma nodded, managing a small smile that he reciprocated. "Thank you," she told him, gazing gratefully up at him. Whatever she saw in his eyes seemed to make her flustered, though and she broke away, taking her hand out of his. "For listening, that is. I seriously didn't mean to unload all of my drama on to you."

Killian shook his head, feeling the loss of her touch acutely. "Don't be silly, love," he said, falling back to her side, both of them facing the waves. "You listened to my tragic tale first. Besides, it's always nice to have someone to share your burdens with."

"Yeah, I guess I've just never had somebody to do that with before," Emma admitted, glancing down at her sand covered feet for a moment before returning her gaze to the horizon. "I think that's why I decided to bring us to the beach today. I've been a mess the last couple days, and there's just something about being near the water that's always soothed me, even as a kid."

Killian hummed in surprise. 'You know, I believe I ended up here today with the same thought in mind," he mused. "I grew up near the water. Liam and I, we were always fishing or swimming or sailing. Being near the water is calming, the wind and the waves, the sounds and smells. Reminds me of home, I guess. And Liam." He couldn't help looking over at her. "I'm glad I came."

She tore her eyes away from the water and met his gaze. "I'm glad you came, too," she said, her lips curved into a soft smile.

He couldn't miss the emotion in her eyes. It looked like hope to him, still mixed with a small amount of fear, and after hearing about her childhood, he didn't blame her. But if he only had this one day with her, he didn't want to continue talking of their rather morbid pasts. "What do you think, Swan, up for one last foray into the water?"

She nodded. "Yeah, let's do it."

Ever the gentleman, he helped her out of the sand, and together they ventured through the waves to rejoin Henry.

* * *

An hour later, Killian felt like the luckiest guy in the world. He was riding shotgun in Emma's yellow bug as they sped along the interstate back into the city. Turned out, they both lived in Brooklyn, and Emma and Henry were unwilling to let him ride the train back into the city when they could easily drive him. So, there he was, nodding his head along to the beat of 'Sweet Child of Mine' and grinning over at Emma as Henry mimicked a guitar solo in the backseat.

Killian was loathe for their amazing day to end. He felt drawn to Emma in a way he hadn't ever experienced. He thought it was perhaps the look in her eyes that he connected with. The look of someone who'd been abandoned, who maybe wasn't quite used to trusting people. Whatever it was, he saw the same thing every damn day when he looked in the mirror. He didn't like to admit it, but he was lonely. He'd made few friends since moving to the States, and he hadn't had a better time in all the years since his accident than he'd had today with Emma and Henry.

He pointed out the exit for the BQE and Greenpoint, feeling the minutes slip through his fingers. They would be pulling up to his apartment momentarily, and he didn't have Emma's number nor any actual verbal indication that she ever wanted to see him again. He kept surreptitiously looking over at her, but she was focused on the road as she pulled off the motorway and merged onto the street.

Killian quietly gave her directions, a right here and left there, and before he knew it, they were turning onto his tree-lined street. He swallowed, indicating his apartment building with gesture of his hand, and Emma pulled into a free spot in front of it, putting the car in park.

He sighed and turned to her trying for a smile that he was sure was more of a grimace. "Well, I can't thank you enough for driving me back," he told her, encouraged by the fact that she looked as reluctant as she did to say goodbye.

"We were more than happy to," she said, her smile looking as forced as his. "Henry, say bye to Killian."

"Bye, Killian!" Henry said brightly, unaware of Killian's inner torture. "Thanks for hanging out with us today!"

"The pleasure was all mine, lad," Killian told him, his smile a little more genuine in the face of the boy's exuberance.

"Why don't I help you with your stuff?" Emma asked suddenly, unbuckling her seatbelt.

Killian did the same, his heart soaring at the opportunity to get Emma alone, even if it was just for a minute. "I would be much obliged, thanks, Swan."

They met at the back of her car, and she opened the little boot where he'd stored his belongings when they'd left. She helped his beach bag onto his left shoulder. They stood there awkwardly for a moment, before they both went to speak at the same time.

"Killian—"

"Emma—"

They both laughed shortly and nervously, Killian scratching the back of his neck as he felt the heat rise there.

"You first," Emma told him, and the smile on her face gave him the courage he needed.

"Emma, I had a truly wonderful day today with you and Henry," he started. "To tell you the truth, I'm half convinced it's all been a dream and I'm about to wake up in my bed any second." Feeling bold, he moved closer to her, locking her gaze with his. "But on the off chance this isn't a dream, I would very much like to see you again. Would you like to—"

"Yes," Emma blurted out breathlessly.

Killian couldn't help his huge grin. "You didn't let me finish," he quipped, unable to contain his elation.

"Oh, sorry, go ahead," she laughed.

He took one of her hands into his. "Would you like to go out to dinner with me sometime?"

Her answering smile was breathtaking. "I'd love to."

They exchanged phone numbers, all the while grinning like school children. Emma planted a soft kiss on his cheek, pulling back with a "See you soon," before she hopped back in her car and drove away. Killian felt the urge to pinch himself as he made his way up the stoop of his building, but the tingling sensation on his cheek told him two things: One, that he was still very much awake and two, that he had a date with the woman of his dreams.

* * *

A/N: Finally I've written something! I've been in half year drought. Dead at Heart is still being written, albeit rather slow than I would like, but that's next to post, hopefully soon! This has been a WIP for literally two years, and I wrote it in Long Beach, which is not so surprisingly the setting for the story. Please let me know if you enjoyed it, any feedback is great! Thanks for reading!


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